


Rolling in the Deep

by BakerKeen



Series: Let Me Count the Ways [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A lot of biting, Anal Sex, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Biting, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Horny John, John's enormous cock, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Size Kink, Sorry Not Sorry, The angst just appeared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5072788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerKeen/pseuds/BakerKeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tugged Sherlock's neck down to him, kissing him roughly as they crashed through the door of the flat. He unzipped his jacket and discarded it carelessly as he kicked the door of the flat shot. "You were fucking amazing tonight," he said fervently, biting at Sherlock's lip and unbuttoning his Belstaff. Sherlock made a protesting whine when John tossed it on the floor.</p><p>"Sod your stupid coat," John said as his fingers flew over Sherlock’s shirt buttons. "I've had a hard-on for 45 minutes."</p><p>This had not actually escaped the notice of the world's only consulting detective, nor, Sherlock knew, that of the detective inspector. Most probably, its hardiness in the face of Lestrade's dull paperwork was the reason they'd been asked to complete so little of it. Sherlock decided he loved this erection even more than the others and that it deserved a hero's farewell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rolling in the Deep

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for the multiple edits immediately after posting. I didn't think I was going to get my computer back for another few days so I went ahead and posted this, which I wrote on my phone, occasionally using voice-to-text (pro tip: don't) which likes to make me look stupid by confusing words like wine/whine and wait/weight. I ended up getting it back, oh, AN HOUR after I posted, and I keep finding silly errors. 
> 
> Anyway, I just corrected like 20 typos, so I think I'm done for a bit, but please let me know if you see any more. --BK

John tugged Sherlock's neck down to him, kissing him roughly as they crashed through the door of the flat. He unzipped his jacket and discarded it carelessly as he kicked the door of the flat shot. "You were fucking amazing tonight," he said fervently, biting at Sherlock's lip and unbuttoning his Belstaff. Sherlock made a protesting whine when John tossed it on the floor.

"Sod your stupid coat," John said as his fingers flew over Sherlock’s shirt buttons. "I've had a hard-on for 45 minutes."

This had not actually escaped the notice of the world's only consulting detective, nor, Sherlock knew, that of the detective inspector. Most probably, its hardiness in the face of Lestrade's dull paperwork was the reason they'd been asked to complete so little of it. Sherlock decided he loved this erection even more than the others and that it deserved a hero's farewell.

He swatted John's hands from his shirt, sensing he was on the verge of simply ripping it open. Fingers moving swiftly over buttons, he stripped his shirt off efficiently as he watched John shuck his jumper and T-shirt in one smooth motion, exposing a broad chest already splotchy with arousal. Sherlock tossed his shirt on the coffee table and waited.

John stalked forward slowly, appraising him as though determining the best way to capture and devour him. The predatory gaze sent a rush of blood to Sherlock's groin, but he forced himself not to act. "What brought this on?" He made his voice sound confused and husky, rather than amused. 

John pounced, crashing into Sherlock with so much momentum that he staggered backwards several steps. "You," he growled, yanking him by his curls to crush their mouths together. "Taking down those smugglers." 

It _had_ been rather spectacular. They'd interrupted two smugglers in the middle of a handoff and of course the morons had given chase, eventually splitting off. John and Sherlock split up as well and when John finally caught up to his criminal he'd pulled a knife. John was hardly helpless in this scenario but the other smuggler had circled around and attached him from behind. He'd fallen to the ground, suddenly focused on nothing but avoiding the knife and feet that were raining down on him. 

They'd forgotten Sherlock, who had rushed the one with the knife first, punching him and then using the momentum of his return attack to throw him off balance, holding his wrist as he threw him to the ground and stomped on his arm with a sickening crack. He kicked away the knife and then delivered a swift one to his ribs for good measure. 

It had happened in seconds. The second attacker, a well-muscled man who easily outweighed Sherlock by 50 pounds, strutted toward him and held up his fists to ready a punch. Sherlock had struck him in the larynx before he had a chance to swing, and when the man clutched his neck, Sherlock threw an uppercut that had laid the man out cold. 

It was the sexiest goddamn thing John had ever seen. 

He yanked on Sherlock's belt now, scrambling to unfasten his button and zip and divest him of another layer of clothing. "I have never wanted anything like I want you right now. The whole ride home I kept thinking about how I wanted to strip you naked and lick you open until you beg to come. But now that I've got my hands on you --" John squeezed a handful of plump arse -- "I've half a mind to fuck you senseless over this couch."

Sherlock's cock leapt even as his more rational side considered the wisdom in letting their first time happen while John was out of his mind with lust. "I see," he tried to say evenly, but his voice cracked anyway. 

John looked at him with sudden intensity. " _Oh_ ," he said in a manner so reminiscent of Sherlock that Sherlock suddenly understood why people sometimes retreated a step under his scrutiny. "You're gagging for it." John reached beneath Sherlock's waistband and squeezed his cock, eliciting a satisfied hiss. He leaned in and growled in his ear. "Do you want me to fuck you, Sherlock?" He bit down on the shell of his ear, _hard_.

Sherlock managed a high, incoherent noise that John correctly interpreted as consent, and John yanked off his own jeans and pants, exhaling in relief when his cock was finally free. 

Sherlock looked down at John and winced in sympathy even as a sweet, empty ache in his backside prodded at him for attention. John looked painfully hard, the head swollen and purple and tight against his belly, and the shaft harder and thicker than he'd ever seen it.

John looked at Sherlock's mouth, then at his own cock, then stared heatedly into his eyes as he dropped his chin in silent command. 

Sherlock dropped to his knees, gathering saliva in the front of his mouth as he gently pulled John's cock away from his belly. He swirled a wet tongue across the leaking tip, sucking a light kiss to the frenulum, keeping it all light and teasing, trying to goad him into -- 

John grasped Sherlock by the hair and plunged deeply into his mouth, gagging him. "Shit, sorry," John murmured, and backed off a couple of inches. He thrust into Sherlock's mouth and started chanting strings of profane praise. "God, you amazing fucking gorgeous creature, you look perfect with your lips wrapped around my cock, feels fucking amazing -- shit, sorry, got carried away -- feels so fucking good ..."

Sherlock didn't try to take control, just tapped out when John got too rough and swirled his tongue around the head when John pulled out far enough. After a few minutes, Sherlock felt John's bollocks start to tighten and he squeezed the base of John's cock hard, pulling off of him with a light _pop_. He looked up at John's flushed face and heavy-lidded eyes, and dug the heel of his hand into his own aching cock to relieve the pressure.

John noticed, and his eyes widened. He pounced on Sherlock, toppling them both to the floor and biting at the long, creamy expanse of neck under him. "You will not go unsatisfied tonight," John growled. He rubbed his cock against the bulge in Sherlock's pants and they both moaned. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging to come."

Sherlock groaned, rutting against John, then whimpered when his solid weight disappeared. Then John nearly ripped his pants off and swallowed down his cock without preamble, dropping his chin and taking him down to the root. 

Thinking of his gagging earlier, Sherlock added _Learn to deep throat_ to the to-do list in his Mind Palace. 

Usually, Sherlock was very careful to be considerate when John gave him blow jobs, having himself been skullfucked so often that for awhile he'd forgotten it wasn't expected. However, John was also an unfailingly polite receiver of oral sex and the rules seemed to be different tonight. Sherlock thrust down John's throat experimentally and John flicked his mischievous eyes upward, grinning around his cock and pulling encouragingly on his hips. 

It was the sexiest goddamn thing Sherlock had ever seen.

He propped himself up on his hands to watch himself pushing into John's mouth, but it was hard to get leverage from this position. John, seeming to see the problem at the same time, pulled off and sat back on his heels so Sherlock could tuck his feet under him and pull himself up to a kneeling position. John got on all fours and opened his mouth, peering up at him impishly and waiting expectantly.

Grabbing his prick, Sherlock pushed down John's throat. He held still for a moment, then watched the changing shape of John's neck in fascination as he pulled out a few inches and then thrust forward again. Suddenly, everything disappeared except for Sherlock's all-consuming need to shove his cock as deeply into the wet, tight heat of John's throat as he could. He wrapped one hand around John's throat and the other around the back of his head, and pushed in roughly until John's lips rested against his bollocks. 

"Oh, Christ," Sherlock moaned, squeezing John's throat. "I can feel my prick through your neck." He pulled most of the way out and plunged in again, closing his eyes against the sight of it so he didn't come immediately. It was tight and hot and felt fucking _incredible_. He managed to grunt out, "Tap out if you want me to ..." before John clenched his throat around him and he lost all command of his verbal skills. He pulled out and set a brutal rhythm, pulling John forward as he thrust in deeply and holding there until John swallowed around him, then pulling out long enough for John to frantically exhale and gasp a new breath before plunging back down his throat. 

After a few minutes, he lost his ability to hold still at all and began thrusting in and out in a steady rhythm. When he dared to open his eyes, the sight of John's eager eyes and swollen lips set a fire at the base of his spine. "I'm going to come down your throat," he growled, pushing faster into John's mouth. Suddenly, John tapped his leg and Sherlock slightly slowed the roll of his hips with a desperate whine but didn't let go of John's skull. "Please, I'm right there."

John glared commandingly, and the effect was less limited by having a cock-stuffed mouth than Sherlock would have expected. He released John with a plaintive whine that swiftly changed into a soft grunt when John tackled him. His impending orgasm trickled away and he rallied his focus at the sight of the dangerous expression on John's face. 

John straddled his hips and leaned down, biting Sherlock's neck hard enough that he had to repress a shout of pain. "Are safewords --" John pinned Sherlock's wrists to the floor "-- a light fucking _suggestion_ , Sherlock?"

 _Sometimes, in my experience._ "No, but I --" John glared at him so murderously that his voice faltered. "No."

John leaned close, biting his ear before growling into it. "So next time I tap out..?"

"I'll stop." John pulled back to glare at him expectantly. "...immediately." 

"Good." John wiggled his hips against Sherlock's belly and gazed at him hungrily. "I'm going to fuck you into this floor." 

Sherlock's widened in mild panic. "Lube," he protested. 

John considered this, pausing his hips while he considered alternatives. "Saliva," he rebutted.

Sherlock chuckled for a moment, then realized that John was fucking serious. He dropped an incredulous glance between them, at John's frankly ridiculous cock. "Vetoed. Our size disparity necessitates a substance with greater viscosity." John stared at him blankly. Sherlock leaned in and whispered in his ear. " _Your huge cock complicates things_."

John raised an eyebrow. "What happened to 'I know for a fact I can take it'?"

Sherlock laughed. "You'll notice that I never claimed to possess a magical anus that defies preparation."

John tilted his head in concession. It occurred to him that they could have made it into the bedroom and had the lube uncapped by now if he hadn't stopped them. He squared his shoulders and slipped back into the Captain Watson voice he knew Sherlock found irresistible. "Get in the bedroom. I want you lying on your back, knees bent, thighs spread, waiting for me." Sherlock hesitated. "NOW!" John barked. 

Sherlock scrambled up, yelping when John smacked his bottom. Lowering himself onto the bed, he thought about the best way to goad John a bit. And so it was that he was lying as commanded, slowly stroking himself, when John entered the room. 

Sherlock closed his eyes, enjoying the slide of his hand, and listening intently. The bedside drawer opened and shut swiftly, and the bed dipped with John's weight. Sherlock allowed a breathy moan to escape his lips, and John's dangerous honey-sweet voice cooed in his ear. "Enjoying yourself?"

Sherlock peeked at him through dark lashes. "Mm, quite."

John's weight dipped the bed between his legs. "What are you thinking about?" 

Sherlock felt his thighs being pushed back and pulled them toward his chest, reaching around one leg to continue wanking. A long swipe of tongue caressed his opening and he groaned, gripping his cock tighter. "You."

Flicks of tongue teased around the edges. "Yeah?" John's voice was muffled. "What about me?" 

Sherlock whimpered as John lapped his tongue directly over him, keeping it wet and soft. "I was thinking about how amazing your throat felt a few minutes ago but at the moment I'm finding it difficult to think about anything other than what you are doing right now."

John chuckled, scraping his teeth across Sherlock's skin and following it with a light, wet slide of his lips when Sherlock moaned his pleasure. For a few minutes, John played, swirling tongue and lips and teeth around his opening before eventually prodding the tip of his tongue inside.

Sherlock felt the sweet, empty ache inside of him that he's come to associate with John, but there was an edge to it tonight. He squeezed his cock, relieving the pressure but not trying to bring himself off. Arching his spine in pleasure, he moaned. "Please, John." 

John released Sherlock's legs and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock as he snapped open the bottle. It clicked shut again and there, _there_ , John was finally pressing a slippery fingertip into him, apparently too far gone to tease. It slid in easily, comfortably, and after a few strokes Sherlock was murmuring for more.

Truthfully, Sherlock was a bit nervous. Regardless of what he'd said before, he wasn't _really_ certain about how this was going to end. Hopefully John wasn't so lust-addled that he skimped on the preparation. 

Sherlock felt the slight burn and then the give of his muscles around John's short, scissoring fingers. He nodded and John added a third. The burn was a little less this time, and then John brushed across his prostate and he cried out as sparks showered through his body. 

John repeated the motion and Sherlock relaxed into it as John crooned at him reverently. "You magnificent creature, does that feel good? Do you want more? That's it, darling, I've got you. I'm going to fill you up soon, would you like that?" He added his fourth finger and Sherlock hardly noticed the stretch. "I can't wait to see you all wrapped around me, to stuff you until you're full." He twisted his fingers and Sherlock pulled at his own hair, panting desperately. "I know sweetheart. When you come, it's going to be spectacular. You're ready?" 

Sherlock nodded, even though he was really sure. John pulled his fingers out carefully and Sherlock whined, feeling empty. After stuffing a pillow under Sherlock's bum, he drizzled more slick on his opening and the coated himself generously. "Tell me when to stop." John lined up and pushed.

Immediately, Sherlock's entire body protested. "Stop." John backed off a half-inch and waited as Sherlock bit his lip and clenched his fists and breathed deeply. Slowly, slowly, his body gave way, and he nodded at John, only to immediately stop him again. 

Sherlock was sweating and yanking on his curls as a counterpoint to the fire burning inside him. "Sorry, John, I'm so sorry." He was on the verge of tears. 

John stroked his face. "D'you want to stop? We can finish another way." 

"No!" Sherlock protested, even as every cogent voice in his head screamed, _Yes!_ "No, I just need a minute." He closed his eyes, breathed meditatively, and tried to push his muscles open. 

John nibbled his neck and murmured encouragement. "You're doing great, love. You feel amazing. Don't let me hurt you, ok? We've got all night." 

Sherlock craned his neck for a kiss and John wiped his forehead tenderly. Sherlock murmured, "More," and John nudged forward. So much pressure, and then the ring of muscle released and John slid forward a couple of inches without much resistance before Sherlock cried out. 

John stroked Sherlock's face. "This is far enough, Sherlock. I have plenty of room to move." Sherlock shook his head in protest but John furrowed his brow. "This is amazing. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

Sherlock bore down, nudging John in a smidge farther. "It won't hurt once it's in. It'll be easier next time." This was probably a lie, but Sherlock was determined to give John what he wanted, and to know they'd done it at least once. Sherlock rocked his hips away and then back, not taking John any deeper but letting him move in the space he had so far. As John gently rocked into and out of him, Sherlock kept pushing himself open and bit by bit, inch by endless sodding inch, John worked his way inside and finally, blessedly, he bottomed out. 

"Oh, thank fuck." Tears of relief actually sprang up in Sherlock's eyes.

John's eyes gleamed. "You mad bastard." He kissed at Sherlock's chin until the taller man tipped his face down for a kiss. "You amazing, gorgeous, mad genius." He pulled out gently and rocked slowly back in. John dropped his voice to a whisper. "You did it." He pushed in with slightly more confidence. 

Sherlock was still quite uncomfortable, although he no longer felt like he was being pierced by a hot poker. When John wrapped a hand around his cock and found him soft, Sherlock looked away. "Sorry," he hastened. "I'm sorry. It'll come back." 

John looked genuinely confused, but simply murmured "Don't be sorry," as he squeezed lube in his palm and stroked Sherlock in time with careful, slow pushes inside him. "Too much?" John asked, when Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut.

The pain was starting to subside, as long as John was slow and careful, and he felt his prick starting to firm up under John's ministrations. He took a shaky breath. "It's better every minute. Soon you'll be able to move more." He opened his eyes to look into John's, which were dark with equal parts lust and frustration. 

John continued his lazy roll inside him and squeezed over the head of Sherlock's cock. "Don't worry about that." He smoothed his thumb over the frenulum, and Sherlock hummed pleasure. "What we're doing right now is perfect." John pulled out a few inches farther and pushed back in, watching Sherlock's face for discomfort. "Alright?" Sherlock nodded, and John did it again. 

Sherlock was hard again and John's cock was starting to feel less uncomfortable inside him. He moved against John experimentally and relaxed when it didn't hurt. Swatting John's hand from his cock, he wrapped his long legs around John's waist and pulled him forward. 

John plunged in, and then stopped when Sherlock arched and swore. "Oh god, I'm sorry!"

Sherlock pulled with his legs again. "More." He pulled John down for a frantic kiss, but John seemed reluctant to move. "Please, John. That felt _good_." John cracked a wide, triumphant smile and thrust firmly again. Electric shocks licked through Sherlock again and he moaned. "God, fuck, _yes_. So --" He lifted up to meet John's stroke -- " _fucking_ \--" he threw his head back as he rolled against him again -- "good." 

John huffed out a soft, " _Oh_ ," as he realized he was bumping against Sherlock's prostate. He thrust firmly again. "Like that?" Sherlock moaned. He repositioned his knees for more leverage and rolled his hips again. The urge to drive into Sherlock, take him hard, claim him was overwhelming him. He made himself count out 40 more hip rolls before he added a hard _snap_ at the end. 

Sherlock's eyes popped open and met his. "Yesssssss," he hissed, and it was all the encouragement John needed. 

John fucked into him the way he'd been fantasizing about, snapping his hips hard, and feeling his bollocks slap against Sherlock's bottom. "You're so tight," he breathed. He plowed into him again. "Jesus fuck. Does that feel good?" 

Sherlock moaned incoherently. The sensation was a heady mix of pleasure and pain, but he wanted it.

John set a ruthless pace, driving into him over and over. "Good," he groaned. "You deserve it for knocking that guy out, saving my life. God, I wanted to fuck you right there in the alley." Groaning, John shook his head, trying to hold off. 

Underneath him, Sherlock looked absolutely wrecked. He was sweating and clutching at John and writhing in some mixture of pleasure and desperation. " _Please,_ " Sherlock groaned. "Please, I'm so close."

John pushed his knees forward and straightened up, one hand on Sherlock's bony hip and the other on his cock. Arching under him, Sherlock moaned as John used his hand as a counterpoint to his sloppy thrusts. "Come on, love," John encouraged. "Give it to me." 

A few seconds later, Sherlock clenched around John's cock and cried out as he came rather spectacularly. John chased his own orgasm, which he'd been staving off for ages, and a few seconds later he was shuddering, pouring into Sherlock as his body stiffened, mouth open in a silent scream.

John half-collapsed on top of Sherlock as they heaved and returned to Earth. Slowly, John's brain started to fire again, and then he was _concerned_. After gently disengaging his cock, he crawled up Sherlock's body and rolled off to the side. Silently, he stroked Sherlock's cheekbones and jaw, and searched his eyes carefully.

After approximately 30 seconds of this, Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "What?" he asked, rather more aggressively than was acceptable immediately post-coitus.

John furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lip. "How are you feeling? Are you alright?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and some of John's concern shifted into incredulity. "I'm perfectly fine, John. That was more than satisfactory."

John pushed himself up on one elbow. "Don't 'more than satisfactory' me. You know as well as I do that I could seriously hurt you and I wasn't exactly being gentle at the end." 

John swung his legs over the side of the bed and headed to the kitchen, so Sherlock decided to go to the loo for a wash. He privately took stock of his body. He was sore, although he could tell he would be in much worse shape in the morning. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he smirked at himself. His hair was wild, his skin still slightly flushed, and his neck, chest, and ears were covered in little bite marks and bruises. Considering how gingerly he would be walking the next day, it was going to be perfectly obvious to everyone what they'd got up to. Sherlock vowed to take any case higher than a 3. 

Sherlock washed himself efficiently and wet a flannel for John. When he went back to the bedroom, he found John waiting with a bottle of paracetamol, a glass of water, and an ice pack. Rolling his eyes, he swallowed three of the pills and drained the water before stuffing the ice pack under him as he crawled back in the bed. John was glancing down at his hips. "You'll thank me tomorrow." 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, pushing himself up on one elbow to the face John. "Don't even consider suggesting what you are thinking."

John huffed in annoyance. "But if I could just check--"

Sherlock sat up, repressing a wince, and folded his arms. "I am absolutely _fine_ , John. This is not my first time with an atypically sized penis. I am not submitting to a humiliating examination simply to ease your mind."

John knew this was a fair point but he was so certain that Sherlock was _not_ fine that he pushed forward. He rolled his eyes dismissively. "Yes, you've mentioned that, but you were probably high before."

Sherlock's eyes went through a quick transformation, first widening, then narrowing, then looking away. His Adam's apple bobbed once and then he spoke softly. "Regardless, I don't require your assistance tonight, thank you." He moved to leave the bed. 

John touched his arm. "Sherlock, wait. I'm sorry, love. I was way out of line mentioning that." He hated being reminded of his addiction struggles and John fucking knew it. He hadn't meant to throw it in his face like that, or to bring up his sordid sexual history. John wanted to kick himself for mentioning it, especially right after their first time. 

Sherlock waited, and John sat back, observing Sherlock for a moment before gently pulling his hand away from the crook of his elbow, where he had been unconsciously hiding his old scars. John pressed a kiss there, and straightened up. "Why does it bother you so much?"

Sherlock considered denying it, or brushing the question off. John would let him, wouldn't force the issue. But the truth was simple. "Because you deserve better." 

John smiled a bit. "Better than you? Wouldn't be so sure."

Sherlock banished all trace of self-pity from his voice when he replied. "Better than a recovering junkie." John's smiled sadly, seeming to take a moment to formulate his reply, but Sherlock interrupted his thinking. "Why does it bother _you_ so much?"

John's reply was swift. "It doesn't."

Sherlock wanted desperately to drop his gaze, but he forced himself to hold it. "You bring it up when we argue." 

John started. "Do I?" He paused for a moment, and Sherlock let him consider it without interruption. "Christ, I guess I do. That's fucking lousy of me." Sherlock exhaled through his nose, and allowed one corner of his mouth to twitch up a bit. John crossed his arms thoughtfully. "I don't always fight fair when I argue," he admitted reluctantly. "As much as I hate to admit this, a big part of it is probably that I know that it bothers you."

Sherlock titled his head in understanding. "I see. That _is_ fucking lousy." John didn't argue. A long silence fell between them, and Sherlock thought over John's words. "It does bother you, though."

John shrugged, rubbing a thumb over Sherlock's scars. "It makes me sad, I guess. Or angry, that you ever felt the need to go there. You deserved better, too." 

The tight anxiety in Sherlock's chest dissipated, and he shuffled down to rest his head against John's broad chest. "Well," he said, feeling sleepiness start to weigh down his limbs, "I have something much better to help keep me sane, now." 

John pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and settled down into his pillow, enjoying the secure weight his chest. "Me too, love."

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, they finally made it! If you have any special sexytime requests before I finish out this series, let me know. :)


End file.
